


Favors and Surprises

by sarcasmandirony



Category: Dream Daddy: A Dad Dating Simulator
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Character Death, Parental Death, Post Robert Good Ending, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-27
Updated: 2017-07-27
Packaged: 2018-12-07 11:51:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11622936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarcasmandirony/pseuds/sarcasmandirony
Summary: “Emily called,” Robert says, sitting on my couch. “She’s my dad’s girlfriend. Anyway. She called. Apparently, my dad’s doctor says he only has a few more days to live. Emily says he wants me by his side.”---“If I go back to Brooklyn, I’ll need someone to take care of my whittling stand at the marketplace. It’ll only be for the weekend. Maybe two.” He adds with hope in his voice.





	Favors and Surprises

**Author's Note:**

> Here's my first fanfic in forever. In other news, I've forgotten how to come up with titles and how to write summaries. Send help.

I wake up and look around my bedroom, wondering what woke me. It’s still nighttime. My phone chirps with a message, my bleary eyes narrowing at the white glow.

I search around my nightstand lazily, moving as little as I can.

I knew it was a bad idea staying up watching the Ice Road Ghost Truckers marathon.

My eyes squint at the bright screen – It’s Robert.

 **Robert:** Hey.

 **Robert:** Hey!

 **Robert:** Milo!

 **Robert:** Are you awake?

 **Robert:** Wake up, Milo!

 **Robert:** I’m coming over!

 **Robert:** I’m standing outside!

 **Robert:** Open the door, or I’ll kick it open!

A smile spreads across my lips as I read Robert’s texts.

I get up and walk towards the entryway, opening the door.

Robert is leaning on the archway. “Finally!”

“I was sleeping,” I say defensively. It’s a pretty good defense.

“Do you always answer your door in boxers?” Robert asks with a devilish smile.

“Only at two in the morning,” I say, yawning. “You wanna go out?”

“Pass. I prefer my partners in crime to be fully awake.” Robert says. “Can I come inside? I need someone to talk to.”

“What’s up?” I ask, closing the door behind him.

“Emily called,” Robert says, sitting on my couch. “She’s my dad’s girlfriend. Anyway. She called. Apparently, my dad’s doctor says he only has a few more days to live. Emily says he wants me by his side.”

I take a seat beside him.

“What are you gonna do?” I ask.

Robert and his father have a rocky relationship.

Robert scratches at the back of his neck. “I have no idea. If he really wanted me by his side, he’d call me himself, right?”

“How long has it been since the last time you saw him?” I ask.

Robert shrugs. “Years. I never saw him much after I married Miranda. And we were always at each other’s throats when we did. Why would he want me by his side now?”

“Maybe he wants to make amends,”

“Well, he should!” Robert says, his voice loud with anger. Our eyes instinctively go to Amanda’s bedroom. Robert lowers his voice into an angry whisper, his eyes dark and dangerous, his hands balled into fists, and his throat bulged. “He has a lot to apologize for!”

He stays quiet for a little while after that, breathing heavily.

I let him be alone with his thoughts.

Robert takes a deep breath. His entire body relaxes beside me. “ _I_ have a lot to apologize for,” Robert says, hiding his face with both hands. He kicks off his army boots and lays down, head on my lap.

“What if I go and all we do is argue?” He asks in a quiet whisper, throwing up his arms and letting them fall with a thud beside him.

“Maybe that’s what you need,” I say. “Maybe you’ll never forgive your dad, or yourself, while you still have all this anger inside of you. Maybe you need to argue with him to move on.”

“You think I should go?” Robert asks, finding a painting on my wall suddenly interesting.

“Do you want to go?” I ask him.

“I do,” Robert says, and he looks surprised at that small revelation.

“Then you should go,” I say.

“Will you do me a favor?” Robert asks, and this is probably the most uncomfortable I’ve ever seen him.

It strikes me that this is a rare occurrence – Robert asking anyone for a favor.

I say the first thing that comes to mind: “Anything you need.”

It immediately dawns on me that it was the wrong thing to say.

Robert’s eyes widen. His mouth falls in a surprised ‘o' – the most unguarded I have ever seen him. It takes two seconds for his eyes to glint mischievously and for his lips to turn upwards – his smile as sharp as a knife.

“I’ll need all your money,” Robert says. “Like, right now. Also, your organs, which I’ll sell for even more money. Money is what I need. Never mind my Pops.”

I tap my chin, thoughtful. “Well, if I agree, you’ll have to take care of Amanda for me. And she gets 50% of the money. And also, Betsy.”

Robert crosses his arms, affronted. “How dare you say something like that? I’d never part with my beloved Betsy. No deal. You can keep your organs. And your life.”

Our eyes meet. We giggle.

“Seriously, what do you need?” I ask, brushing a happy tear from the corner of my eye.

“If I go back to Brooklyn, I’ll need someone to take care of my whittling stand at the marketplace. It’ll only be for the weekend. Maybe two.” He adds with hope in his voice.

“Done,” I say.

“I’ll give you 10% of my earnings those days,” Robert promises.

“You can keep your money. That’s what a favor is, silly.”

“You know, the first person that called me that was also the last. And that was also the last time anyone saw them.” Robert says, deadly serious.

“Well, that’s good. I’m the only one that gets to call you silly anyway.” I say.

Robert chuckles. “You win this time.”

And then: “Why would you do something like that for me?” He asks, the concept of someone doing something for him and expecting nothing in return unfathomable.

 _Because I love you, you dummy,_ I think.

I stay quiet, however, knowing it’s the wrong thing to say. Robert already knows how I feel about him. And I already know how he feels about me.

That’s not the point.

‘Because I love you’ would be reason enough for me, having been raised in a loving environment all my childhood– well, until I came out, that is. ‘Because I love you’ would be reason enough for my daughter, whom I have always cared for unconditionally, like a dad always should (in your face, dad!). ‘Because I love you’ is not reason enough for Robert, whose father has neglected him for most of his life; who has neglected his daughter for most of her life.

“Because that’s what friends do,” I say, instead. “They wake up at ungodly hours of the morning, even when they’re, like, really, really, _really_ sleepy, and watch over their friend’s whittling stands while they are away reconnecting with their pops.”

Robert is smiling, his smile no longer as sharp as a knife, but as sweet as melted caramel.

“Thank you.” He says and the way he holds my hand tells me how much this means to him.

“Anytime,” I say because it’s true. “Since when do you have a whittling stand in the market place, anyway?” I ask because I had no idea.

Robert is such a guarded man. I realize he is like this because life has taught him to be, which makes me sad.

I also realize there are still so many things I still don’t know about him, which makes me glad.

“Oh, I’ve had it for a few years, ever since my wife and I moved here,” Robert tells me. “I have always loved whittling, even during my not so honest years. Being a high school dropout, it was basically the only thing I could do in the way of an honest living. Not that I’m complaining. I love whittling. And how many people can say they do what they love?”

“One day you’ll have to tell me about your not so honest years,”

“Never,” Robert says with a devilish smile. “Plausible deniability, you know?” He winks. “I’ve even started building a site. I’m thinking of taking Robert’s Wooden Carvings National. Or maybe State-wide, for starters.”

I laugh. “And how long have you been working on the website?”

Robert shrugs, embarrassed. “Only a few years. It’s been a slow process. Dads and PCs, you know? I can use Dadbook and little else.”

“Could you show me?” I ask him, getting an idea.

“Oh, alright. I’ll show you.” Robert agrees if a little reluctantly. “If you make fun of it, your bones will be shattered.” He threatens before we head into my room.

“Whatever you say,” I say.

I watch the keyboard while Robert logs in, memorizing his username and password. My memory is terrible. I’ll have to write them down later.

 

* * *

 

“Nice breaking and entering, dad! We’re properly edgy now!” Amanda says as I pick up Robert’s spare key from below a rock in his front yard.

“A proper lookout watches the road and the sidewalks, Amanda,” I tell her.

“A proper burglar only breaks in at night, Dad.” Says Amanda, waving at Craig who’s going for a jog with his daughter. Down the street, Brian walks Maxwell.

“That’s what they want you to think,” I say, opening the door.

Amanda steps inside with all the calm in the world, the wheels of her turntable trolley screeching as they enter Robert’s living room floor.

Smiling at Joseph, who’s cutting his lawn, I follow her inside. “Besides, we’re not actually taking anything. We’re just borrowing a few wooden carvings from Robert’s workshop.”

“Whatever you say, dad. FYI, if the cops show up, I’m blaming you.”

“I taught you well, sweetie.”

“You know it!” Amanda says, looking around.

“Dad! Robert’s house is, like, ages better than ours! He has a better TV, a better-looking couch –” Amanda jumps unto Robert’s big chaise lounge. “And it’s super comfy too! I wonder if he’d let me be his daughter instead.”

“Nope. My return date has long since expired.” I tell her, opening, and closing doors.

“Bummer,” Amanda says. “Hey, you’re looking for Robert’s workshop, right?” She asks.

“Yeah, Amanda. We’re looking for Robert’s workshop. That’s why we came.”

“Then maybe you should try the door that has a wooden sign saying workshop on it,” Amanda says smartly.

I feel my cheeks blushing. “Oh. Right. Whatever would I do without you, sweetie?”

Amanda shrugs. “Crash and burn, probably.”

Amanda and I step inside the workshop. “This place has style. Hey, I had a great idea! We should take the pictures in here instead. There are even wooden shavings on the floor and in the workbenches. It would make the photos more authentic.”

Amanda picks up two wooden figurines from a shelf. “We should get a picture of Betsy as well.”

I feel my cheeks burning. “Uh, Robert probably has pictures of Betsy around. We’ll just have to look.”

“Yeah, snooping!” Amanda says, side-eyeing me. “When do I get my bribe again?”

“After you take the pictures, sweetie,” I tell her.

She fist pumps the air. “Yeah, cash!”

I chuckle and look around the house for a picture of Betsy while she goes back to our place to get her photography equipment, and probably to find a picture of me.

“Hey, Panda, do you still have Val’s contact info?” I ask upon her return.

“Duh. That card is, like, a possible job right after college. That’s, like, millennial gold.” She says, and she is not wrong.

“Well, can I borrow it?” I ask. “I promise I won’t lose it.”

“Of course you can, dad,” Amanda says, looking around in her wallet for the business card. “Here you go. Now to take some cute, yet professional looking pictures of Robert’s wood!”

I immediately look at her upon realizing what she has said.

She immediately looks at me upon realizing what she has said.

We start laughing so hard our breaths turn ragged.

“I’m gonna go set things up, or we’ll stay here until dawn,” Amanda says, still laughing with tears in her eyes.

“Thanks, Manda Panda,” I say, looking down at Val’s number.

Time for stage #2 of my plan.

 

* * *

 

“Hi, Milo here. Is this Valerie Small?”

“This is her speaking,” Val says.

And then: “Milo who?”

Whoops. I thought Val would remember me.

“Uh. I’m –”

I hear a familiar sounding chuckle. “Oh, I’m sorry. I remember you. Dad has been talking about you a lot since he got here. You know, even more than usual. Dad and Emily think you’re his boyfriend. So, what’s up? Wanna talk with my dad? Is his phone off again? He always forgets to charge it. For several days at a time. I think he’s in the living room. Wait up.”

“Wait, Val, don’t get your dad!” I say. “Actually, I called to speak with you.”

Silence.

“Are you hitting on to me or something?” She asks, her voice deadly serious. “I have a girlfriend, you know. She’ll kick your ass. And then I’ll kick your ass. And then my dad will kick your ass.”

Oh God, this is going terribly wrong.

“No, wait, Val, I wasn’t –”

Val giggles. “Whoops. Just kidding. Again. Sorry. My dad told me you were gullible. So, what can I do for you?”

“I need a favor.”

“Shoot. You know us Smalls hate small talk.”

“Right. Before your dad left, he told me to take care of his whittling stand.” I say.

“I know. Dad keeps talking about it. He makes it sound like you’re a war hero,” Val says like she finds it obnoxious and endearing at once.

 “And he also mentioned he’s been working on a website,” I reveal.

“Really?” She asks, and I hear the sound of a chair creaking across the floor. “Did you, by any chance, get his ID and password?”

I pick up the piece of paper where I’ve jotted them and read them to her.

“Oh, man, this is a disaster.” She says. “Wait a second, is the favor you’re asking me a favor you’re doing for him?”

“It’s more like a surprise, actually,” I admit.

“So dad has no idea you’re doing this?” Val asks.

“Nope,” I say.

“I see why he likes you.” She says. “Well, it will take some work, but I’ll get it done. You can count on me. Man, he could’ve asked me for help himself if he has been working on this for so long.”

“You know why he didn’t,” I say.

“I do. I wish he could’ve,” Val says, sadly.

“There’s something else,” I tell her. “I asked my daughter to take a few pictures of a few wooden carvings he had in his workshop. For the website, you know?”

“That’s an excellent idea,” Val says, excited. “Have Amanda send them to me when they’re ready. I’ll text you my personal e-mail address later so you can email them to me.”

“Thank you for this, Val.”

“Thank _you_ , Milo.” She says. “You’re an excellent friend. My dad is lucky to have you. I think we all are.”

I brush my hand at the back of my neck, embarrassed.

“And you think you’ll be able to keep this a secret?”

Val snorts, “ _Please_.” And she hangs up.

 

* * *

 

My phone rings while I’m house cleaning, pink rubber gloves in my hands and a cloth wrapped around my hair.

I run towards my bedroom and pick my phone from the bedside table – it’s Robert.

“Hey, Robert, what’s up?” I ask.

“Milo.” He says hoarsely, and I realize he has been crying. “My dad, he’s –” A sob catches in his throat. “Milo, he’s –”

“I’ll be there as quickly as I can, Robert. I promise.” I say.

At first, he says there’s no need.

In the end, he agrees.

Outside, a car beeps its horn.

I go back to the living room and pull my curtains aside.

Parked in my driveway is Mary.

“Mary, what are you doing here?” I ask her.

“Robert texted me, duh. And apparently, he has _called_ you.” Mary says, nodding at the phone in my hand. “I’ll give you a ride. C’mon.”

“Oh. Alright. I’ll go and change. I’ll be quick, I promise.”

Mary glances at her car’s watch. “I’ll give you five minutes.”

“I’ll be back in two,” I say, running back inside and pulling off the pink rubber gloves.

 As I change clothes, I hear Amanda coming down the stairs with purple rubber gloves in her hands and a checkered cloth wrapped around her forehead. “Dad, where are you going?” She looks at the mess I’ve made of the living room. “I ain’t cleaning that.”

“We’ll have to house clean some other day,” I say.

She throws the duster she’d been holding on to the couch. “You don’t need to tell me twice,”  Amanda says before taking in my worried expression. “Hey, Dad, what’s up?”

“Robert’s dad passed away. I’m gonna go meet him.” I say, pocketing my wallet, phone, and car keys. “Will you be alright by yourself?”  

“Dad. I’m practically an adult. I can take care of myself.”

“You’ll have to water our yard. And Robert’s as well.” I tell her, heading back to Mary’s car. I hear her honking again.

“It’s as good as done,” Amanda promises me.

“And don’t bring down the house.”

“That I can’t promise,” Amanda says with a smirk.

I chuckle. “That’s my Manda-Panda,” I say, ruffling her hair.

Leave it to my wonderful daughter to bring a smile to my face in a time like this.

“Dad!” Amanda slaps away my hand. “You’ll mess up my style!”

I eye the checkered cloth wrapped around her forehead and the purple rubber gloves in her hands, and we both start laughing.

Mary honks again. “Milo, I’m leaving!”

I open the door. “I’m coming; I’m coming,” I say, climbing down the steps of the porch. “Take care sweetie.”

“You too, Dad! And tell Robert I’m sorry!” She waves me goodbye.

“Will do,” I promise, stepping into Mary’s car – an Impala.

“Buckle up,” Mary tells me, sliding on her sunglasses and turning on the radio.

You can smell burnt rubber as she steps on the gas, leaving the cul-de-sac behind.

“Your ride is really cool, Mary,” I say while I buckle up, my body pressed flat against my seat by how fast Mary is going.

“I know.” She says, her lips spreading in a dangerous smile. “Robert hates it.”

“He does?” I ask, surprised.

“Yup. Robert wishes it was his.” Mary tells me like that was why she bought it.

Knowing Mary, it probably was.

I learn three things about Mary during our ride. Frist: Mary can drive to Brooklyn in half the time it would usually take. Second: Mary can talk her way out of a speeding ticket with only a wink and a few slurred words. Third: Mary likes listening to music that is at once biblical and blasphemous.

Our ride comes to an abrupt ending by a set of apartment buildings.

“Go on inside while I find a place to park,” Mary tells me, taking off her glasses. “Robert will wanna see you before anyone else anyway.”

“Uh, and what’s his father’s apartment and floor?” I ask, looking around.

Mary points at one of the apartment buildings, exactly like every apartment building in the street. “7D.”

I step onto the sidewalk and walk towards the apartment, my heart quickly beating in my chest.

I press the buzzer for apartment 7D and wait.

“Who’s there?” Val asks, her voice a little huskier than usual.

“It’s Milo,” I say.

In the background, Betsy barks.

Val buzzes me in.

Betsy greets me in the hallway as I leave the elevator. I kneel down and pet her head. Val is waiting for me in the threshold.

“He’s in there.” She tells me, waving with her arm at what looks like a living room.

Inside, Robert’s sitting on the couch, his face hidden behind his hands, rough and soft and covered with tiny little scars.

Robert looks up, his eyes puffy and red and surprised as they see me.

Like he didn’t expect me to come at all, indicative not of his perception of me, but of his perception of the world.

He stands up and takes a step towards me before coming to a halt, afraid I’ll disappear if he comes any closer – like I’m a mirage.

 I cover the distance between us with a few short steps.

His body crashes into mine. My arms are around him. His arms are around me. He lets out a sob that breaks my heart.

Betsy watches us silently.

“Milo, you came.” He says, tightening his hold on me, reassuring himself that I’m here and that I’m real. “You’re here.”

“Of course I am,” I tell him. “You needed me.”

Robert chuckles in surprise – a sound more heartbreaking than his sobs.

“I’m so sorry for your loss, Robert,” I say. “So is Amanda.”

Robert sniffles. “I always liked that kid.”

“And she always liked you.”

Val stays by the archway, looking at Robert like a scared little kid –in shock. Somewhere else in the apartment, someone else is crying. Emily, I guess.

A knock sounds on the door.

Betsy dashes out the living room.

Val goes after her.

After a few seconds, Mary appears at the living room door.

“Mary,” Robert says, looking over my shoulder.

“I’m so sorry about your pops, Robert,” Mary says, walking inside and leaving Val behind, still standing in the doorway.

 Robert hugs her with an arm, keeping me wrapped in his other one.

Val looks at us, at her dad, with longing in her eyes, like her dad is on the other side of the world, unreachable, like the distance between them is an ocean impossible to cross.

She looks down at her feet, ashamed, and leaves.

 

* * *

 

At night, Mary and I stay in the living room. She gets the couch. I sleep on a mattress on the floor. Betsy sleeps by my feet. Mary and I hear Robert and Val speaking in hushed tones in the kitchen. Betsy snores loudly.

The funeral happens the following day.

Val is by Robert’s side during the entire ceremony – finally feeling like she’s allowed to be there for her dad, her dad finally feeling like he’s allowed to let people be there for him.

They keep their distance from Emily, though, and Mary takes it upon herself to support the late widow. She prays along with priest during the short service, her hand twirling the cross hanging from her neck.

I stay by Robert’s side, here if he needs me.

After the funeral, Mary and I return to Maple Bay.

“I think I’ll stay here for a few more days,” Robert says as he comes down to see us off. “There are a few more things that I need to sort out.”

“Will you be alright?” I ask.

“I think so. Val will be here with me. I asked her last night and she, she agreed.” He says offhandedly.

I smile. “I’m glad for you, Robert.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Robert says. “Will you be alright to take care of the whittling stand for an extra weekend?”

My smile widens. “I think I’ll be able to manage it.”

Robert chuckles and shakes his head.

“God, I hate that car,” Robert says as they reach Mary’s Impala.

“I know,” Mary says with a smirk. “That’s why I brought it.”

“Oh, yeah?” Robert asks with a smile like a knife’s edge. “Maybe someday you’ll wake up, and someone will have cut its tires.”

“I dare you,” Mary says playfully, stepping inside.

She slides on her sunglasses and turns on the engine.

I wave at Robert.

Robert waves back.

 

* * *

 

I’m watching Paranormal House Hunters when I hear the engine of Robert’s pickup truck driving down the street.

“He’s here!” I say, getting up and running towards the door.

“What about the episode?” Amanda asks.

“Pause it!” I tell her. “We’ll keep watching it later!”

“Okay, but hurry up! I wanna know what happens!” Amanda calls after me. “And good luck!”

Robert’s red pick-up truck is pulling into his driveway, Betsy’s head hanging from the window, her tongue lolling in the wind.

“Missed me much?” Robert asks, stepping down from his pickup truck and bowing as Betsy dashes from inside the truck and runs towards me. “My lady.”

I rub Betsy’s head for a little while before heading towards Robert.

“Everything alright?” I ask him.

“Everything’s fine. Will you help bring those inside?” He asks, already carrying two big suitcases up the stairs.

Betsy darts inside Robert’s house as soon as she hears the doors unlocking.

“Whoa, there, girl, almost stepped on you.” Robert chuckles, dragging his suitcases in and taking off his sunglasses. “Need any help?” He asks me.

“Please,” I say, struggling to get his luggage onto the porch.

Robert chuckles and helps me out.

“Just leave those there.” He reassures me when I pull his bags inside. “I’ll have plenty of time to unpack later.”

Robert pours fresh water into Betsy’s water bowl in the backyard and sets a bowl of food beside it before setting down on his chaise longue.

“You can take a seat, dude,” Robert tells me, taking off his shoes and socks and propping his feet on top his coffee table. “I won’t bite. Unless you’re into that.”

He pats the seat beside him.

Betsy, a trail of water droplets and dog food crumbs in her wake, jumps up on the sofa and nestles her head in Robert’s lap.

I sit beside him.

“Things went alright around here?” Robert asks me.

“Oh, yeah. I sold all the wooden carvings you left behind. You better get working, or the people of Maple Bay will riot.” I say. “And how were things with your dad before, you know –”  

“Oh, it was alright. My pops and I had enough time to talk. And to fight. I guess we still had a lot of anger and resentment and disappointment towards each other, even after all those years. Maybe because of all those years. We also had time to make amends. We needed that. _I_ needed that.”

“I’m glad for you, Robert. I really am.”

“Me too,” Robert says. “Who knew making good decisions felt so great? And they all started with giving you a chance. You make me wanna be a better man.”

Robert’s hand hangs over the back of the couch.

I can feel it hovering behind my neck, his fingers just brushing my hair.

“You don’t give yourself enough credit. Yes, having people by your side who support you is nice, but the will to change and the strength to uphold that change needs to come from inside. And you’ve been doing great.” I tell him. “I’m proud of you, Robert.”

Robert holds my hand in his.

“I’m trying my hardest. Every day feels like a struggle. Some days it seems I’m a misstep away from falling back into my old habits. But then I think about my daughter, about Betsy, and whittling, and you; and everything gets a little easier.”

“Well, I have something to show you that will make everything easier too,” I tell him, getting up and heading towards the PC laying on the dining table.

“You know, it’s kinda rude using other people’s PCs without their permission,” Robert says, getting up and coming to stand beside me.

“Hey! You use my PC all the time!” I argue.

“That’s because you’re spineless, which I’m not. If you and I weren’t such good friends, I’d cut your hand with my trusted knife.” He says, taking a knife from an inside pocket in his jacket.

I shrug. “I think a hook would give me an edgier look, doncha think?”

Robert starts twirling the knife between his fingers. “I think an eye patch would bring that look together.” Robert points the tip of his knife at me. “Don’t look into my personal folders. Or my browsing history.”

“Noted,” I say, pulling up his web page. “Have a look.”

“Hey, that’s my website! How did ya?” Robert looks from the PC to me and back again. “It’s –”

I get up and wave towards the chair. “Take a seat. Explore.”

Robert does as I say.

He scrolls through the website – it’s clean, easy to read and to navigate. The main page showcases the types of carvings Robert does. There are pictures of animal sculptures, carvings of daily objects, and custom-made figurines. Each category has a set of pictures beside it, showcasing Robert’s skills. Robert’s eyes linger on the custom-made ones. Side by side, there’s a picture of a wooden carving he has made of Betsy and an actual photo of Betsy. Below, there’s a picture of a bust standing beside an image of a man.

That man is me.

The wooden carving of myself at once like me, and unlike me. I guess it speaks less of how I actually look and more of what Robert thinks of me – beautiful and caring and kind.

It warms my heart and brings color to my cheeks.

“Amanda took these in my workshop,” Robert says.

“She did.” I agree.

“And my daughter designed this website.” He says.

“She did. What do you think?” I ask.

Robert shakes his head in disbelief. “It looks better than I ever could’ve hoped,” He says with tears in his eyes and a big smile on his lips. “You asked them to help, and they did.”

“You should try it sometime,” I tell him, a hand in his shoulder. “We all did this for you.”

“Thank you,” Robert says. “It’s perfect.”

He gets up and gives me a big, cuddly hug. Robert’s embrace is warm, and I sink into it, squeezing my arms tightly around his waist and nuzzling my face into his neck. His skin there is soft and warm. It smells like pine needles and open fields. It feels nice.

“Thank you for doing this,” He says, his voice thick with feeling. Pulling back, he cups my face in his big hands and brushes his lips in mine. It’s a sweet, short kiss.  “I can’t remember the last time anyone did anything this nice to me.”

My arms hold him tighter. “You better get used to it,”

“Wait a second,” Robert says, looking back at the web page. “How did you take those photos?” He asks.

“I kinda broke into your house.”

Robert releases a hearty laugh. “Oh, man.” He says, patting my cheek with his hand. “That’s my boy! I’ll make a looter of you yet. Fetch me a glass of wine and a bottle of White Zinfandel while I check the rest of this website, why doncha. You can bring one glass for yourself.”

“That’s sweet of you,” I say with a smile.

We drink in silence while Robert browses the website, pointing things he likes about it, things he adores about it, and things he loves about it. There’s wonder and gratitude in his eyes and happiness and pride in his voice.

Pride in his daughter and in the website she has made for him. Happiness that they are speaking again, after so many years. He’s grateful for the pictures my daughter has taken, and of how I made all this a reality. And wonder that all of this is happening to him.

Seeing Robert happy is the biggest reward I could ever get.

He invites my daughter and me for dinner, the two of us already a little tipsy.

We eat pineapple pizza. Amanda looks at the pizza dubiously, and Robert gives her his pizza discourse. It sounds like poetry. The pizza is also pretty good.

After dinner, we watch a movie about cryptids, and about the people that chase them.

Amanda falls asleep on Robert’s chaise lounge. Betsy falls asleep on Robert’s stomach. I fall asleep in Robert’s arms, his soft lips brushing my hair, and his rough beard tickling my forehead.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed. If you want, you can follow me at sarcasmandirony.tumblr.com


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